Son of Hypirochus! For, as he sought To save his herd, a javelin from my arm Smote him the first among his band. He fell; His rustic followers fled on every side; And mighty was the spoil we took: of beeves We drave off fifty herds, as many flocks Of sheep, of swine as many, and of goats An equal number, and of yellow steeds Thrice fifty;⁠—these were mares, and by their sides Ran many a colt. We drave them all within Neleian Pylos in the night. Well pleased Was Neleus, that so large a booty fell To me, who entered on the war so young. When morning brake, the heralds’ cry was heard Summoning all the citizens to meet To whom from fruitful Elis debts were due; And then the princes of the Pyleans came, And made division of the spoil. For much The Epeians owed us: we were yet but few In Pylos, and had suffered grievously. The mighty Hercules in former years Had made us feel his wrath, and of our men Had slain the bravest: of the twelve who drew Their birth from Neleus, I alone am left;